Public Enemy Number One
by Zaney HacknSlash
Summary: While treating his wounds after he gets in another fight, Jack tells Sawyer that everyone hates him, but is that really true? Takes place in season one, after Confidence Man. Touch of Skate. One shot. Sawyer Centric.


Sawyer took the blow in his stomach, tensing his muscles as he did so that it wouldn't hurt as much. The guy socked him pretty hard-enough to knock him back-but all he really managed was to make him even angrier than he already felt.

Snarling, Sawyer went at him, putting his own fist right in the man's face. He felt it press into the socket of the eye, and his opponent screamed, falling back, holding his eye for a moment, before he lunged at Sawyer.

The people around them were screaming and shouting as the man knocked him down. Most seemed to just want the fight to end, but he could hear that some of them were cheering. And they sure as hell weren't cheering for him.

For a few seconds, the man actually got Sawyer pinned down and hit him once in the jaw, but Sawyer bunched his legs and kicked him off, rolling over and scrambling up to go after him, leapt on him, hitting him twice. It was hard fighting with just one arm. The arm Sayid had stabbed still hurt when he tried to use it too much, but Sawyer ignored the pain and used both his left and right fist to attack. They rolled over and over on the ground, getting blows in wherever they could. Sand flew up in a gritty cloud, the crowd's shouting became nothing more than a din of noise, and Sawyer's opponent's face was nothing but a big, blue-eyed target. It occurred to him, somewhere between busting the man in the nose and feeling someone grab him from behind, that he didn't even know this jackasses name. Was it Steve? Or was it Scott? Maybe neither.

A powerful grip clenched around both of his arms and someone started to drag him away, just as the black guy-Michael his name was-ran over and grabbed Scott/Steve/Whoever the hell it was and started to pull him the other direction.

Several moments passed where Sawyer screamed obscenities and struggled to go back at the other man, and his opponent did the same, shouting angrily through blood.

Then he felt his feet kicked out from beneath him, and he was thrown to the ground, harshly. The guy who'd done it, kicked him in the ribs. Hard. His face was livid with fury.

Who the hell was _he?_ Sawyer assumed he was the other one—Scott or Steve. Someone should figure out the difference one of these damn days. Whoever it was, he was pissed about Sawyer beating up on his friend, and now he was coming at him. He landed roughly on Sawyer, banging his damaged arm as he did so, and Sawyer couldn't help yelling in pain a little. There was no time for that though. Scott and Steve were both on him, pummeling him. One hit him in the face, the other in the chest. Then again in the stomach.

Furious, Sawyer kicked at them. He got one-he thought it was Scott-right in the face with the toe of his boot, and the man went keeling backward. That only made Steve all the angrier, and he started screaming, striking over and over, so angry and disoriented only a few of his blows actually hurt. Sawyer crammed his knuckles into Steve's gut, then knocked him over with an elbow to the face.

That should have been the end of the fight, except now Scott was coming back, and there were a couple other guys with him. No one Sawyer really knew. People who hated him, no doubt. People who were angry about him hording things, or about him raiding dead bodies, or who still thought he'd taken Shannon's inhalers. He didn't know what they hated him for, just that they did.

It was sort of relieving to know.

All three guys were on him now, tearing into him; Sawyer jumped to his feet, letting one blow slide off his shoulder and exchanging it with one of his own. He managed to knock one guy back, but then there were just three more to deal with. It was a rough position to be in for sure. He couldn't really even remember what he'd done to get into this. He'd said something Scott hadn't liked, and the guy must have been having a rough day already, because he'd just jumped him.

Steve clocked him in the jaw again and Sawyer's head snapped back. He staggered a little and almost fell, saw the fat guy and the little British kid standing there with the oriental couple and the blonde chick with the nice legs. No one was doing anything. Michael was standing a few feet away, screaming for them to cut it out, but that wasn't doing a damn bit of good. Sawyer had been in a lot of win or die fights since he was a teenager, but this time there were four of them, and he was injured.

This time he might just get busted.

One of the guys knocked him down. Steve pinned his arms. Someone grabbed his hair. Scot punched him in the face a few times. Sawyer struggled to get up, but they had him down pretty tight, and even when he managed to get his good arm loose, it was a futile effort. He could feel his mouth and nose bleeding now.

For some reason, the only thing he could think was, _Where the hell is Kate?_

Not that she could do much for him now. It was going to take Jack or Sayid-sized charisma to get these guys to stop, and last he'd checked, Jack and Sayid hated him. Not to mention the Iraqi had left the camp several days ago.

They were going to win, no doubt about that. But Sawyer wasn't going down without a fight. He kicked Scott in the balls and tried to shove him away, but Steve had him pretty tightly, and another guy was already there, screaming in his face and hitting him.

"That's enough!" Someone roared. Jack's voice. He knew because of the grating sound of it and the way everyone suddenly stopped and paid close attention. The Doc had them all wrapped around his tiniest finger.

Jack grabbed the guy who was sitting astride him and shoved him off, pushed Steve and the other one back, backed Scott away as well, just as the man was recovering from the low kick.

The moment they were off, Sawyer was on his feet again, like an animal, diving for Scott-the asshole who'd started it all-out for blood.

Jack caught him around the chest before he could get there, but Scott still cringed like a little girl. He could see in his eyes how scared the man was of him. They were all scared. They still thought those handcuffs had been on him.

"Ya' sonnova' bitch!" Sawyer screamed, "What the hell is your problem?"

The doctor held him back, but he could tell it was taking all his effort. "Knock it off, Sawyer! It's over!"

"Like hell it is!" He tried to move around Jack, but Michael was there now too.

The black guy shoved him back a few feet, "Hey man, you heard him. Let it go."

Scott was just standing there, staring at him, the expression on his face both blank and hateful.

"What's the matter, boy? Ya' scared? Now that Doco's here ya' ain't got the balls ta'-"

"I said that's enough, Sawyer." Jack said firmly.

He turned to look at Scott and his little gang, "What's going on here?"

The four of them exchanged glances, then Steve shifted his weight from hip to hip, "This asshole attacked Scott."

"What was that?" Sawyer started forward again, but Jack grabbed his damaged arm. Whether because he'd forgotten that was the injured one or just to be a prick, Sawyer didn't know, but the sudden pain stopped him cold.

Jack ignored his little gasp of shock and kept speaking calmly, "What did you attack him for?"

"I didn't." Sawyer growled from behind clenched teeth. "This sorry son of a bitch jumped me."

The expression on Jack's face told that he was skeptical of that. Of course he was. Why should he believe Sawyer?

The thought made him both bitter and relieved at the same time.

"Did anyone see what happened here?" Jack called out over the crowd. The Korean guy started to babble about something.

Hurley spoke up. "Yeah, Dude, I saw it."

All eyes focused on him.

That seemed to make him a little unsure, but he kept on anyway, "Uh…Scott went up to him," Hurley pointed at Sawyer. Not wanting to use his name apparently, "and they like, talked for a minute, then Scott started yelling…and…uh…then he just hit him."

"Sawyer just hit Scott?"

Sawyer snarled slightly, but before he could defend himself Hurley said, "Naw, Dude, Scott hit Sawyer."

Jack leveled his piercing look on Scott.

The man hesitated, and then shrugged, "He was rude."

The flint-hard gaze shot to Sawyer.

"What? Ya' gonna' punish me for bein' rude, Sarge?"

Jack pursed his lips and sort of shook his head, not really for an answer, but just to show that he disapproved of the whole matter. Then he said to everyone, "All right. It's over—everyone just go back to your business. And no more fighting." He looked meaningfully at Scott, and then at Sawyer. "I mean it."

Slowly the others started to bleed away, the onlookers giving a few last curious glances over their shoulders, Scott glaring vehemently in Sawyer's direction.

Sawyer gave him the finger.

Jack slapped his hand down, lowering his voice so only Sawyer could hear, "Cut it out, man."

"Whatever ya' say, Boss." Sawyer shrugged.

"Go on." Jack said to Scott and his friends, "You heard me. It's over. Everyone just go back to your lives."

"What lives?" Sawyer muttered, starting to stroll away.

Jack grabbed his arm again-the good one this time, so he must have remembered- "Not you."

"What'dya' mean, 'not me'? I'm the one that got jumped on there, Judge—ya' ain't thinkin' of incarceratin' me now, are ya? Think ya' should know, your jury there's a little biased."

"Enough with the jokes, Sawyer. Come back to the caves with me and I'll take a look at your face." Jack's voice was devoid of any desire to 'take a look' at his face, so Sawyer knew it was just out of a sense of obligation, or guilt.

Sawyer rubbed his lip and blood smeared on the back of his hand. He spat some red onto the sand, smirked, "'Sall right, Doc, think I'll pass."

"I didn't ask. You've got to get your antibiotics anyway." He gestured to Sawyer's arm, like maybe he'd forgotten about it.

"I said no, Doc. How much clearer I gotta' be?"

Jack shoved him forward a little roughly, "Let's go."

"Fine," Sawyer sighed, more annoyed than anything. He started toward the tree line, "have it your way."

Doc followed him back to the cave, where he had him sit down next to the water pool while he collected the needed supplies—rags, peroxide, band-aids and stuff like that.

Sawyer couldn't hide his irritation, "For your sake, my face had better look like a pile of hamburger meat, 'cause I don't like gettin' dragged up here ta' Caveville for nothin'."

Jack didn't answer. He crouched beside Sawyer and started to swab the blood off his forehead. It burned pretty bad, but Sawyer didn't say anything. Jack would probably enjoy it even more if he knew it was painful.

A few minutes went by without Jack saying anything. The doctor's hands were surprisingly gentle—Sawyer would have thought he'd just scrub the wounds really quick, slap some Neosporin on and be done with it, but Jack took his time, carefully cleaning any sand out of each abrasion before dressing any of them.

"Why do you stay on the beach?" Jack asked at last, sounding reluctant to strike up a conversation.

Sawyer didn't feel any more inclined to it than he did, "Would I be welcome in the caves?" He sneered.

Jack scoffed, "You're not even welcome on the beach."

"Oh, right." Sawyer licked his bloody lip for emphasis, "It's been almost fifteen minutes since someone last attacked me, I nearly forgot. Thanks for remindin' me."

The doctor sponged some blood away from the corner of Saywer's mouth, "What's wrong with you anyway, Sawyer?"

"What?"

"Every time there's a fist fight, or an argument, or some kind of struggle over a resource, you've got to be right in the middle of it."

"Brilliant deduction there, Doctor Livingston."

"I'm serious, Sawyer. I mean, you're not building any points with anyone, hording things, stealing off bodies. You lose more points every day."

Sawyer glared at him, eyes narrow, "Put's me in the whole then, don't it? Guess that means I don't get ta' play in Final Jeopardy."

"You can't take it seriously, can you?" Jack looked him in the eye, "Sawyer, people hate you. Hurley-nicest guy in the world, gets along with everyone-thinks you're the biggest jerk in the world."

Sawyer smiled as obnoxiously as he possibly could, "Good ta' hear you're concerned about it. Why don't ya' organize a Pro-Sawyer rally or somethin'."

"Hey, I'm only saying this for your benefit." Jack snapped. "I don't care if people hate you: I'm just sick of dealing with you every time you piss someone off. I'm the one who has to bail you out every time you get into it with someone."

"Like ya' rescued me from Muhammad? Well ain't _you_ Gandhi?"

"I'm just saying you could put a little effort into it, you know." Jack closed the peroxide bottle and started to put his supplies away. "One of these days you're going to make enough people angry…" he shook his head a little, but didn't look at Sawyer, "I don't like burying people, Sawyer."

It took a moment for Sawyer to decide on a way to react, then he sneered, "Ain't that touchin'. But even if I did get myself killed I wouldn't want _you_ burying me in the first place."

Jack faced him again, his face sort of weary, "All right, let me try putting it another way: I don't need you getting killed."

"Don't lie 'bout it, Doc—you'd be relieved an' you know it."

"Yeah, well don't flatter yourself—I'm a doctor. Death is just my number one enemy." He held out a small, orange bottle, "Take your damn pills, Sawyer."

Rolling his eyes slightly, Sawyer snatched the antibiotics from him. "Whatever ya' say, Mom."

"Then you can get out of here. The last thing I need is for you to get in a fight here and get blood in the water supply."

"Yeah, yeah." Sawyer downed the pills, then tossed the bottle back and started to walk away.

Jack called after him, "I mean it, Sawyer. No more fighting. I don't want there to just be forty-five of us, not even if it did mean being free of you."

Sawyer glanced at him, ready to toss an insolent remark, but he saw the vague smile on Jack's lips and laughed instead, "You got it, Doc. I'll just go establish the Island Peace Corps instead. First thing we'll do is go make friends with the monster in the woods."

That made Jack laugh too, then he turned away, shaking his head.

Sawyer went back to the beach, only to find Kate loitering outside his tent.

"What happened to your face?"

"Well hello to you too, Freckles." He smiled.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked, starting to follow him.

"Yep. Never felt better. Nothin' like getting whaled on by four yuppie bastards."

"Hurley told me you got in a fight." She touched his bloody knuckles suddenly.

The contact startled him and he stopped to look down at her. Seeing the concern and the tenderness in her eyes was confusing, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. "Yeah, well you know how it is."

"No. I don't."

He shook his head a little, still smiling, "What, Freckles? Ya' come over just ta' check on me?"

"I just don't understand why you have to be fighting with someone all the time."

"Oh, ya' haven't heard then, huh? Well, no surprise: Doc just told me this mornin'."

"Told you what?"

Sawyer shrugged carelessly and grinned widely, even though it felt horribly fake, "Ev'rybody hates me."

Kate didn't smile back. Instead, she looked indignant, "Jack told you that?"

"Yeah. Told me ta' quit fightin' 'cause I'd be a pain in the ass ta' bury. How's that for a humanitarian." Sawyer lit a cigarette.

The girl seemed troubled. "Not everyone hates you."

He looked down at her steadily. "Oh really?"

"_I _don't hate you."

"Ya' prob'ly should, Freckles." He murmured. "Next person I get inta' a fight with is gonna' be your boyfriend."

"Jack's not my boyfriend." She rolled her eyes and folded her arms, the warm touch of her hand disappearing like the light of the sun.

"What? Ya' got a man back home?"

Kate fixed her mouth stubbornly and shook her head, "No."

"Pretty girl for bein'single."

"What about you?" She dodged.

"Naw. I'm pretty traditional 'bout that kinda' stuff. Men just ain't my thing."

That got a laugh from her, like he had known it would. Her laugh sounded so good. It was fresh and clear in the morning sky. "No! I meant, do you have a girl back home."

"Wait, I thought ya' already decided nobody's missin' me back home."

The smile faded off her face immediately, a look of guilt replacing it as she lowered her eyes.

Sawyer cursed himself for saying that. "Look, never mind, Freckles. I ain't really the romantic type." He added slowly, "You were right anyway…nobody's looking for me."

He turned away to go before he said anything else to upset her. Why did he always have to do that? Why did he always have to push her away when she was just being nice? "See ya' around."

Suddenly, Kate jumped forward and grabbed his arm.

He looked down into her pretty, green eyes, a question starting to form on his tongue.

"Sawyer, just don't get in anymore fights, all right? Please?"

Sawyer pushed away the sneering words that were starting to take shape and smiled, "Ya' sure ask a lot nicer than the Doc did, Freckles."

"Sawyer…"

"Right. I'll give it a shot." He dislodged himself from her hands, gently as possible. "Don't mean I'm gonna' become no caring neighbor, lendin' out cups o' sugar or somethin'."

She just smiled at him.

Her smile…it was so sad and so sweet. It made him want to kiss her.

"I'll talk ta' ya' later, Freckles." Was all he could say before finally turning around, and walking down the beach, the taste of blood still in his mouth, the hammering of his heart still in his chest.


End file.
